


Private Conversation

by misplacedgaleanthropy



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Reader, Porn With Plot, Spanking, slight dubcon I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misplacedgaleanthropy/pseuds/misplacedgaleanthropy
Summary: Your boss has been acting strange since you started dealing, but today's events are a bit much.





	Private Conversation

The Devil’s Casino. The stench of smoke and booze is something you learned to ignore, but the atmosphere is worth treasuring. It’s bright and colorful and loud, but hazy at the same time, like a dream. You see this place every day and you’re still not tired of it. Being the only human working in the casino -- maybe even in the whole damn island -- you still get weird looks and even harsh slurs from the newbies. The veterans, on the other hand, you can spot them a mile away; they’re the only ones willing to give you a respectful nod and a healthy tip.

Dealing blackjack isn’t easy. It’s even harder when most of your patrons are morally bankrupt enough to wander drunkenly to the wrong side of the tracks and literally gamble their lives away. You’ve even dealt a few critical cards that landed innocent souls in the hands of Ol’ Scratch himself. Was it worth leaving your old life behind and coming to Inkwell, where toons come alive and nobody knows your name? Hell yes. You smile at the pun. Time to go to work.

It’s the middle of the day, and the blackjack pit is running low. A few regulars spot you strutting out in your uniform and flock to your usual first table. You smile, call them by name, and start dealing out the first few cards. When you first started, you’d tried to show off with a few flourishes and card tricks; you were a big fan of close-up magic when you were little and you still have a few skills left in you. That landed you in the hot seat pretty quick. You heard you almost got fired on the spot, but the boss put in a good word for you. Why he did was a mystery; it wasn’t like you’d spoken with him much. You’d sure like to, though.

The game goes smoothly. Everyone has a fun time, and one of the high-rolling skeletons wins big. A huge tip flies your way. Some of the players clear out, and more file in to replace them. You fall into a comfortable routine, dealing cards, gathering chips, making small talk. It’s not as glamorous a job as everyone makes it out to be, but you have fun with it. After a couple of hours, another dealer comes up to the table and taps you on the shoulder, the signal that it’s time for your break.

As you leave, you pass by the craps tables and spot a flash of black fur. Another unlucky soul begs for his life. It’s not all fun and games here.

The break room has the usual assortment of mediocre food laid out. It’s free, so you can excuse the quality. You help yourself to a snack and make for the couch, hoping to catch a few winks before you’re called back out to the pit, but the sound of well-shined shoes clopping down the hallway shakes you awake before you drift off too far. You’d know the sound of your boss’s footsteps anywhere. Seems like he’s the only one who even wears shoes in this joint. And it pays to be alert. The King doesn’t take kindly to mischief.

As he enters, you jump to your feet and give a little bow of your head in his direction. “How’s it going?” you ask.

“Not bad, not bad!” King Dice says. He gives the break room a long sweep of his eyes, likely looking for anything out of place. “My patrons treatin’ you right today?”

“Can’t complain. Business as usual.” You watch him check the food and coffee, wondering what he’s doing when there are plenty of rank and file who handle that sort of thing. This is the first time you’ve seen him in weeks, much less spoken with him; he’s usually plenty busy being the Devil’s right hand man and all that.

You take the opportunity to study his face. King Dice’s appearance intrigues you more than most of the Inkwell residents. You’ve seen your fair share of sea monsters, living plants, and pottery-heads, but a six-sided die in a fancy three piece suit? That’s a new one. Not to mention the class and finesse that radiates off of him like sunshine. Yeah, he’s a fascinating guy alright. It’s no small wonder you can’t help but be curious what he looks like _under_ the suit.

He notices you staring. You make eye contact and immediately look away, blushing. He’s your boss. You shouldn’t be thinking that way. Even if you are already working at a hotbed of sin.

“Well,” King Dice says, turning to leave, “if you ever need help, just gimme a shout.” He gives you a big exaggerated wink and drops into his own shadow, vanishing out of sight.

What in Satan’s name was that all about?

Hours after you’ve resumed your shift, the encounter is still replaying over and over again in your head. It takes a player getting especially rowdy about his drink order to jolt you back to the present before you start dropping cards. You just know your tips are gonna fall short by the time the night is over. The customers coming to your table start to thin out. Right as you close out another game, you feel a tap on your shoulder; time for another break. Thank god. “Hey, just in time,” you say, turning around.

Standing behind you is King Dice.

Your body goes stiff as a board. “B-Boss!” you stammer. “What, uh, wh-what can I do for you?”

“You seemed to be having a touch a’ trouble, sweetheart,” he says, rocking on his heels. “Thought I’d come over and give your li’l hands a break for once.”

“Uh... Sure?” You step aside and let him take your spot at the table, dumbstruck. Ordinarily you would retreat back to the break room, but this is something you’ve _got_ to see.

A few patrons notice that the manager of the casino himself has stepped up to deal. Word spreads fast, and the table is full within minutes. King Dice picks up the deck, inspects it, and tosses it over his shoulder, where it vanishes. He claps his hands together and a brand new deck appears from thin air, shuffling itself in three different ways. A few small gestures send cards flying out to the players. This sort of tomfoolery would never fly if someone like you tried it, but the boss? He can have as much fun as he likes.

Throughout the game, King Dice makes the cards do all sorts of goofy things, from walking along the table when someone calls for a hit to exploding in a puff of smoke on a bust. There’s even a mini fireworks show when King Dice scores a blackjack. One player starts to accuse him of cheating, but a withering glare from the boss shuts him up in a flash. Granted, from what you’ve heard, there’s every possibility that those cards really are loaded. You know better than to speak up, of course. The tricks captivate you, and the last chips are collected before you know it. Time really does fly when you’re having fun.

You start to thank King Dice for the show, but he leans down to your ear, cutting you off. “Confidentially,” he whispers, “could I see you over in my office right quick? You ain’t in trouble, promise.”

Despite his assurance, you can’t help but feel nervous as you put up your little “table closed” sign and follow him out of the blackjack pit. He leads you to The Door. The big purple affair that no one’s allowed to go through without express permission. You’ve never seen the other side. King Dice unlocks it with a little pink key, waves you inside, and closes it again behind you. The window’s tinted dark and the sounds of the casino don’t reach through the walls. It’s just you and him now.

The room is sparse but classy. White pillars stand at even spots along the sides, with wine red curtains hung between them. There’s a mahogany desk piled high with what you assume to be soul contracts, and behind it is a plush purple lounge chair with a back that towers comically over everything else. At the back of the room is a modified craps table with some kind of board game printed on the inside. It looks well-maintained.

“So,” King Dice says, smiling, “how d’ya feel about me callin’ you in here like this?”

“Uh, a little nervous, I guess? Why?”

He walks up to you and takes your chin in his gloved hand, holding your head up to look him in the eyes. “Really? I see the way you look at me, dollface. Sure you don’t got somethin’ you wanna say to me?”

Your cheeks heat up. You wrack your brain for an explanation, but come up empty.

When you don’t say anything, King Dice continues. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneakin’ those little stares every time I come around. Thought I’d put it to the test today ‘n’ sure enough, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“So in the break room, and at the table...”

“Mmm-hm!” His deep voice takes on a husky tone. “Listen sweetheart, if I’m wrong about all this, you just stop me. I’ll open the door and let you outta here, no strings attached. Nobody’s gonna hear about it but you ‘n’ me. But if I’m not, well...” His pupils flash green. “Maybe we can have a little fun.”

“Wh-What do you...”

“Shhh.” He lets go of your chin and instead cups your breast, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. You gasp. Your back arches into his touch. Encouraged, he flicks the buttons on your dealer’s vest open and slides it down your arms; with no resistance from you, it falls to the floor. He holds up his hands and, while you stare, pulls off each of his gloves in turn with his teeth, setting them on top of his desk.

“Maybe we shoulda put you in one of those bikinis instead,” King Dice chuckles. “Why hide such a pretty figure?” His hand snakes under your blouse. You avert your eyes and flush darkly; your vest is plenty tight so you go without anything else underneath. King Dice arches an eyebrow. “Now, see?” he purrs. “You oughta be showin’ these off, doll.” While working on opening your shirt, he starts tweaking and rolling your nipple in his fingers.

You bite your lip to suppress a moan. This is all happening too fast. He’s your boss; you shouldn’t be letting him do this. It’s wrong. Your blouse falls open, but you take a step back, staring at the floor.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” King Dice says. “Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ cold feet on me.” He takes a step to the side, opening up a clean path to the exit. “I told ya, if you don’t want this, then get outta here. Don’t waste the King’s time.”

Your eyes jump between him and the door. You really should leave. Right? So why aren’t you? You realize you’re panting. Not out of fear, just excitement. You already know the answer to your own question: you _do_ want this. You’ve wanted it since the day you started working here. You might not get another chance like this again. Maybe... it’s okay, even if it is wrong? Maybe you don’t want to be right.

“Well?” your boss prompts.

You look up at him and nervously lick your lips.

Without warning, he grabs your wrist and tugs you close. Your bare chest presses against the front of his suit. “Don’t you worry. I can see it in your eyes, doll. Say it.”

You give a little squeak and look away again, embarrassed. “I... I want it.”

“Want _what?_ ” He grabs your chin again and forces you to look at him. His eyes glow green as his smile widens. “Don’t mince words with me.”

His grip is so strong. You swallow hard. “I want you to touch me.”

“Here?” He squeezes your breast with his fingertips, maintaining eye contact. “Or...” His hand then drifts lower, brushing your stomach, and then your thighs. “Or _here?_ ” He presses up between your legs, rubbing you gently through the slacks of your uniform.

A curse hisses between your teeth. You clutch at his arms. Oh yes, you want it. You want it _bad_.

“That’s what I thought,” King Dice chuckles. “You ain’t foolin’ anybody. You’re practically soakin’ right through these.” He slips his hand under your clothes and brushes your clit. You buck your hips against his touch, seeking more friction; he obliges and starts rubbing in slow, lazy circles.

“P-Please, boss,” you whine, digging your fingers into his sleeves. “Faster, please...”

“’King Dice’ will do just fine, sweetheart. Just for tonight.” He speeds up, but only slightly. Still nothing but gentle, feather-light touches. Smarmy bastard.

And then, before you can think, he twirls you around and shoves you into the craps table, bending you forward over the polished wood on the wall. His body presses against yours, pinning you. Your slacks and panties are yanked down, the open air doing little to cool off your heated skin. Now unobstructed, he slides two fingers inside you and starts moving at a steady rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, Dice!” you gasp.

He gives your ass a firm spank. “That’s _King_ Dice to you, slut. Didn’t your momma teach you some proper manners?” Still, he keeps fingering you, hitting all the right places and making you melt underneath him.

Your moans steadily grow louder. “Okay, okay, _King Dice_ ,” you pant. “Happy now?”

“That’s some mouth you got on ya.” He pulls his hand back, but after a rustle of his pants, his fingers are soon replaced by something much bigger pressing at your entrance. “You just keep workin’ those pipes.” His cock pushes inside you; you’re so dripping wet that it slides in to the hilt with ease. You see stars. And it isn’t long before he starts to move.

The table groans under the pressure. King Dice moves slow at first, but your shuddering moans spur him on. Each thrust comes harder than the last. You can hear his breathing become ragged as his rhythm starts to slip. Heat builds in your body, threatening to boil over. “God, King Dice, fuck me,” you breathe, trying to egg him on. “You feel so good, so so good...”

“That’s right, take my cock, ya little whore,” he growls, his breath hot on your ear. “You love it, don’tcha?”

You moan in response, bucking your hips backwards to meet his thrusts. Pressure and heat mount inside you as you approach your climax.

Sensing this, he reaches around and rubs your clit, sending you over the edge in seconds. His name slips from your mouth over and over again as your body quivers in eye-rolling bliss. King Dice makes a strangled noise and redoubles his efforts, pounding his hips on yours. “Oh darlin’, that’s it,” he gasps. You feel his cum fill your insides, deliciously hot. He keeps thrusting into you for a few moments longer, riding it out.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. So wrong. Yet so right.

“How’d you like a promotion, doll?” King Dice says, panting on top of you. “Somethin’ a little cozier with my little office here?”

“Sounds like a damn good idea to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing smut that people besides me might enjoy, so comments are much appreciated and con-crit is welcome!


End file.
